


Get Well

by AyuOhseki



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Other, POV Second Person, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 07:43:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5577133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AyuOhseki/pseuds/AyuOhseki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being sick sucks, but it's not as bad when you have a family who loves you to take care of you, even if the care they can give is limited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Well

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sick and cranky and unable to sleep, so have some cute Dreemurr family fluff. Some minor Chara/Asriel, though you can read it as innocent or platonic if you prefer. It was originally going to be just plain platonic, but Chara and Asriel insisted otherwise.

You spasm into another coughing fit as Toriel takes the thermometer from your mouth, and it irritates you more than anything else. You already know you don’t have a fever (though you definitely feel woozy and terrible) and it’s not like your nose is running; your throat just hurts and you keep coughing for no reason. It feels like you _should_ be coughing something up, but there’s nothing in your lungs--you can breathe just fine. Except, of course, for the coughing.

“Your temperature is normal, my child,” Toriel announces. “That is something to be positive about, is it not?”

You wheeze a little and resist the urge to say something rude. You know she’s trying to help. That’s better than your human parents ever did.

She reaches out to stroke your hair, and that _does_ help. You remember when you first fell into the Underground and Asriel found you and took you home, and Toriel and Asgore both scared the hell out of you until Toriel cracked some wonderfully bad jokes at you and Asgore made you a delicious cup of tea and eventually you found that there _are_ decent people in the world, just so long as they’re monsters. In the beginning, you would have shrunk away from her touch; now you shut your eyes and lean into it. When you open them again, smiling, she’s smiling back at you. She must, you think, be remembering the same thing.

“I am afraid my healing magic will not be able to fully cure your illness,” she says as she moves her hand away and a white light begins to glow in her palm. “But this should help soothe some of the pain.”

“Doesn’t hurt too much,” you croak, though you also don’t tell her to stop. “s’just a sore throat.”

“My, aren’t you brave!” she replies, smiling fondly at you. “But while it may not be much now, it will not do to have it become something more serious. Hopefully you will recover on your own, but in the meantime, I shall research a cure.”

She stands up, and the side of your bed where she’d sat creaks. “Rest as best you can, my child,” she tells you fondly as she tucks you in. “If you need anything, be sure to tell Asriel.”

Asriel is there too, and so is Asgore, both of them hovering just outside the door frame, both of their faces set with hilariously similar expressions of worry. When Toriel turns to them and nods her head, they shuffle inside, Asriel with a bounce in his step, Asgore stooping to keep from knocking his head on the frame. There’s a steaming cup of tea in Asgore’s hands, and despite the fact that Toriel literally _just_ tucked you in, you sit up and reach for it.

“I am sorry we don’t have any medicine for you right now,” he apologizes even as you sip. It’s very warm but not hot; it must have cooled off while he was waiting to be allowed in. “But I understand that tea is good for sick humans.”

“Would you not give them tea regardless, Fluffybuns?” Toriel teases.

He chuckles ruefully and touches the back of his head with one paw. “I suppose I would. But that is only because Chara has very good taste in beverages.”

You grin despite breaking into another couple of coughs. The tea doesn’t really help your throat that much, but he’s right; it _is_ delicious, like usual.

Asriel weaves in between his parents and stands next to your bedside. He waits long enough for you to drink some more, then asks, “So how is it? Your throat feel any better now?”

“No,” you croak, about a second before it occurs to you that maybe it would’ve been better to lie and say yes to make them feel better. When Asgore starts to look disappointed, you add, “I guess it’s true what they say: taste makes waste.”

Toriel bursts into delighted laughter and Asgore sighs a long-suffering sigh, but he’s smiling while he does it. Asriel makes a face, and you grin at him just before finishing off your cup and handing it back to your adoptive dad.

“Thanks.”

He takes the cup--it’s like something out of a dollhouse in his enormous hands--and he gives your hand a gentle touch. In the first months when you came down here, you were convinced he could and would crush you like an ant; now you know he _could_ , but you also know that part of his strength is being able to _not_. “I am sorry it did not help with your throat, but I’m glad it seems to have improved your spirits.”

“Your tea’s just that good, Mr. Dad Guy,” you reply.

He smiles and chuckles and tucks you in again, and you lie down and let him. Toriel clucks her tongue a little, but more out of gentle amusement than irritation or exasperation, something that still amazes you a little after all this time. They reassure you again that they’ll check up on you and look into a cure but that Asriel will be here to take care of you (or rather, “to take _chara_ -f you!” as Toriel crows; “Moooom!” Asriel complains while you cackle and Asgore shakes his head) in the meantime. Once they’ve gone, you cough a few more times, hating the way it inflames your throat, and slip a hand out from under the covers to reach for Asriel’s. He’s already reaching for you before you’ve gotten it free, and the feel of his soft paw pads under your palm makes you squeeze his hand.

“I hope you get better soon, Chara,” he says, kneeling down next to your bed. “That cough sounds bad.”

“Yeah, it sucks,” you grumble, and your voice sounds like you’ve been gnawing rocks: gruff in a way you despise. “You’re lucky, Ree. Your body’s made of magic, so you’ll _never_ get sick.”

“That’s not true!” he protests, and you blink at him in surprise. “A couple years before you fell down here, I got really sick with blasphurts. It took a whole week before I got better!”

You snort and giggle, even though it brings several more coughs with it. “You got sick with _blast farts_?”

“BLASPHURTS!”

You laugh even harder, and Asriel tries to scowl at you in that adorable baby-face way he does before he softens and starts to laugh too.

“Okay, maybe some blast farts were involved,” he admits.

You choke. “Oh my god, Ree, too much information.”

“Wh--you’re the one who brought it up!”

And you laugh again and cough again and pull him closer as you turn onto your side. God, you need more pillows, but you don’t want to let go. As he settles in and squeezes your hand, you remember how gently he had helped you walk when he’d found you in the Ruins. He hadn’t questioned the cuts on your arms or why you’d come to Mt. Ebott in the first place. He’d been drawn to your cries of pain, but rather than take advantage, he took care of you like he’s taking care of you now. Your heartbeat surges, and you rest your other hand on your locket, a match pair with his. He wasn’t just your first friend. He was the first person you ever dared to trust.

Feeling a little flushed, you ask, “So what’s blasphurts like?”

“Oh, um... I got really chilly, even though I had a high fever, and I sweat a lot,” he replies, rolling his eyes upwards as he thinks. “And, uh, I couldn’t keep my food down very well...”

“I thought monster food turned into energy instantly?”

“That’s why blasphurts is awful!! It messes with your body’s magic and you can’t digest food the right way,” he insists, leaning in a little more. “Mom was really worried for a while, and Dad canceled a bunch of meetings so he could keep an eye on me.”

You let your head sag into your pillow. Your throat is terribly scratchy, and you probably shouldn’t try to talk more than you have to, but it’d be so boring if you didn’t chat. You’re not going to be able to fall asleep with all the coughing you’re doing anyway. You tried earlier, so you know. God, you hope this goes away soon. You want to be able to play with Asriel again. Maybe you should pull him into bed with you so you can leech his body heat.

Then again, maybe you don’t need to. Asriel’s face is very close to yours now. If Toriel hadn’t already confirmed otherwise, you’d swear you have a fever with how warm you feel.

“It’d be nice if there was a way to just... stop being sick, huh?” he murmurs.

You start to smile a little. “Well...” you say slowly. “There’s one way I heard of...”

“Woah!! Really?!” he utters, getting up to his knees. “How?! We should do it right away!”

You try not to smile too wide, which will give you away. It’s hard, though. You love it when Asriel walks right into a prank. “They say you can give your cold to someone else,” you tell him, “if you give them...” You mumble the rest on purpose, though it helps that you have to cough into your other hand anyway.

“What? What was that?”

You motion him closer, and he leans in. You keep mumbling, and he frowns at you, tilting his head. God, his ears are so fluffy and soft. You just want to grab them. Instead, you whisper and lean forward. He leans in too, just like you knew he would.

“Give them what? Give them _what_?” he whispers.

Quick as a snake, you shoot forward and boop their snoodle. With your lips.

“If you give them a kiss,” you tell him with a devilish grin.

He makes a sound like a teakettle crossed with a slide whistle as he turns red under his thick, white fur, and you laugh in triumph.

But then he says, “O-okay!” And while you’re still mentally on ‘wait, what?’ he leans in and boops you back. On the lips. With his lips.

It’s over in less than a second. You’re left speechless all the same. You stare at him, and he’s still blushing, but now he’s also smiling a pleased little smile.

“I-I know you were probably just kidding,” he adds, rubbing his paw pads on the backs of your fingers, “but if it really will take your cold away... I don’t mind being sick for a while.”

You open your mouth, shut it.

That nerd.

You can’t believe he really believed you.

Your throat burns just as much as before, and anyway, you don’t have a cold (yet), just a persistent cough and a sore throat. But for some reason--maybe it has something to do with that light, fluttery feeling that dances in your chest--you already feel a lot better anyway. You let a smile slide across your lips, and you’re _sure_ you look goofy but right now you don’t even care. You pull yourself forward and slide your arms around him and bury your face in his soft neck fur.

“Thanks, Ree,” you mumble into his fur. “You’re the best.”

He hugs you back, and never mind how awkward it is for both of you with you mostly horizontal and him mostly vertical. “I’ll do anything for you, Chara,” he murmurs back.

You shut your eyes and savor the moment. He really is the best. Nobody could take your sickness away--not your cough but your _true_ sickness, that feeling you get when you hold a knife for too long, the one deep inside you that’s part of your blood and bone and sinews simply by vice of having been born a human--but you know he really would try, like he did just now.

And you think, also like now, maybe _feeling_ as if it works is good enough.


End file.
